Master Rodney managed two trade routes: one north to Winterfell, and one south to White Harbor.
The northern caravan had departed two months ago and was not expected back for another moon's turn. The southern caravan, however, had been resting in Redstone Village when the Skagosi attacked.
Rodney had commandeered its guards for the battle. Unlike Rodney's sworn smallfolk, these guards were sellswords. They had no obligation to defend his land, so Rodney had promised them heavy bonuses to march into the woods.
Now, with several guards wounded, Rodney faced a logistical nightmare. He couldn't force injured men to march; they would only slow the wagons down. But waiting for them to heal would break his delivery contracts with other lords, damaging Redstone's reputation.
Lost coin was a minor issue. Lost trust was fatal.
The caravan master, Clegg Cobb—Rodney's brother-in-law and closest confidant—had agreed on a solution. The caravan would depart on schedule. They would hire replacement guards in the villages along the Kingsroad. As long as they reached full strength before hitting the denser forests near White Harbor, the cargo would be safe.
This was why Rodney had practically begged Aldric to escort them.
Because the guards were mercenaries, they were expected to provide their own weapons and mounts. The caravan provided basic rations—hard tack and salted beef—but if a guard wanted ale or a soft bed, it came out of his own purse.
Since Aldric was stepping in as a replacement, he couldn't inherit a wounded man's gear. He had to buy his own.
For the first time since washing ashore, Aldric had a moment to breathe. Redstone was bustling, its gravel streets lined with merchants and craftsmen. It was time to resupply.
First, they visited the village blacksmith. Aldric sold the jagged Skagosi axes and rusted swords by weight. He kept the chieftain's heavy chainmail and iron helm, paying the smith a few silver stags to tailor them to Kevin's slight frame.
Next, they needed horses.
A knight and his squire required three beasts: two for riding, and a sumpter horse for baggage. They searched the village but found no dedicated horse trader.
Returning to the manor, Aldric asked the steward.
"My Lord," the steward bowed. "The smallfolk have no beasts fit for a warrior. The good horses are in the Master's stables. But whether he would sell them... I must ask his leave."
As the steward turned, he nearly collided with young Harry Hornwood.
Hearing of Aldric's need, Harry waved the steward away. "My father is busy tallying the cargo with Uncle Clegg. I will take our guests to the stables myself."
Harry led them to a large paddock behind the holdfast. Five horses grazed lazily in the afternoon sun. Harry grabbed a handful of oats, feeding them to a sturdy piebald.
"The chestnut mare is my father's," Harry said. "This piebald is mine. The other three are yours to choose from."
Aldric stared at the horses. He had a problem.
His "Memory Palace" contained the [Grand Master Riding] skill. But as a Tauren Paladin, his mounts had been massive Kodos, fiery Phoenixes, skeletal Frostwyrms, and grinding Mechanostriders.
He had never actually sat on a normal, Earth-style horse.
Aldric crossed his arms, projecting absolute confidence. "Kevin. A test of your eye. Which mount suits you? Which suits me?"
"Yes, Master!"
Kevin, suspecting nothing, eagerly approached the fence. He checked their teeth, felt their chests, and ran his hands down their flanks. After a long moment, he pointed to a dun stallion and a black mare with a white blaze.
"Master, these two are strong. Sound wind and limb."
Aldric nodded sagely. "Indeed. Good eye." Though neither of them compares to my Level 60 Great Golden Kodo.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Ser Aldric, I must warn you. That dun stallion is called 'Old Bones'. He is fourteen years old. Past his prime."
Aldric glanced at Kevin. The boy's face flushed bright red; he had completely missed the horse's age.
"It matters not," Aldric lied smoothly. "I knew his age. But old horses are like old soldiers. They may lack raw speed, but they possess experience and calm. He suits me. May we test them?"
"Of course."
Harry had the stable boy saddle the mounts. He led them to a low, grassy hill behind the village.
Kevin had spent years tending horses for his father. He knew their temperaments. 'Old Bones' was indeed long in the tooth, but his training was flawless. A slight shift of Aldric's weight, a gentle squeeze of the knees, and the horse responded perfectly.
For Aldric, whose riding experience was entirely digital, the smooth, intuitive control of the old warhorse was a profound relief.
"Kevin," Aldric called out. "How is yours?"
Kevin slid off the black mare, breathless and grinning. "She's wonderful, Master." Kevin had never owned his own horse. To him, the mare was a queen.
"Settled," Aldric said, turning his horse back to Harry. "What is the price?"
"A trained warhorse usually commands a full Gold Dragon," Harry recited, slipping into merchant mode. "'Old Bones' was my father's spoil from the Greyjoy Rebellion. The black mare is young, but has deep lungs. I can let you have both for two Gold Dragons."
Aldric looked at Kevin. What do you think?
Kevin stared blankly back. I only clean the stables, Master. I don't buy them.
Aldric coughed lightly. "Harry. If 'Old Bones' is a veteran of the Greyjoy Rebellion, perhaps I should speak with Lord Rodney. I wouldn't want to buy a beast he holds sentimental value for."
Harry's eyes widened. He clearly didn't want his father involved in this side-deal.
"However!" Harry backpedaled quickly. "You saved Redstone. We cannot charge you full price! One Gold Dragon and twenty Silver Stags for both. But... I have a condition."
"Name it."
"While you are in Redstone..." Harry swallowed his pride. "Will you teach me swordplay?"
Aldric was puzzled. "Your father commands a hundred men. Why ask me?"
"My father is a quartermaster and a trader," Harry said bitterly. "He organizes well, but his blade is slow. Without you, the Skagosi would have broken our center. I saw you take that chieftain's head in Lone Bridge. I keep thinking... if I had half your skill, maybe my men wouldn't have died."
Aldric nodded. He was already drilling Kevin until the boy dropped. Taking on a second student for a week was a small price for a steep discount.
"Done. Join Kevin at dawn tomorrow. But you clear it with your father first."
"Thank you, Ser!"
With the riding horses secured, the rest was easy. The steward found them a sturdy, broad-backed draft horse for eighteen silver stags. They purchased thick wool blankets, waterskins, an iron pot, and trail rations.
By the end of the day, the Gold Dragon Aldric had earned from the Skagosi bounties was gone, along with twenty of his own Azerothian silver coins (which the local merchants accepted by weight).
But looking at his laden horses and his armored squire, Aldric felt a surge of satisfaction. He looked like a proper, dangerous mercenary.
For the next week, Aldric trained Harry alongside Kevin.
"Teaching others teaches yourself," the old saying went. As Aldric drilled the boys, he refined his own physical connection to his implanted combat skills.
He decided to teach Harry spearmanship. The spear was the king of the battlefield—cheap, deadly, and effective at keeping swordsmen at bay.
But as Aldric demonstrated thrusts and parries, a grim realization settled over him.
A spear is long. But what if the enemy has a longer reach?
As a Sunwalker, Aldric's ranged attacks—Avenger's Shield, Judgment, Holy Shock—were entirely magical. And in Westeros, his magic was sealed. His skill tree was grayed out. If he faced horse archers or a fast enemy who liked to kite, he would be a sitting duck.
If the Light won't answer me, I'll have to rely on wood and string.
The next day, when picking up Kevin's tailored armor, Aldric bought a yew longbow and two dozen broadhead arrows from the smith.
"Master?" Kevin asked as they walked back. "What is that for?"
"Practice," Aldric said, testing the draw weight. "My archery is non-existent. I intend to practice on the road to White Harbor."
Kevin looked uncomfortable. "But... isn't the bow a weapon for cowards and commoners? The great knights fight face-to-face."
Aldric rolled his eyes. "Who told you that?"
"My father. And my brother, Lannor."
"In my homeland," Aldric said dryly, "we have a saying: Accents change every ten miles, customs change every hundred. Just because knights in the Fingers don't shoot doesn't mean it's a universal law."
Aldric stopped walking. "Tell me, Kevin. If a bandit ambushes a woman in the woods, that is face-to-face combat. Is it honorable?"
"Of course not."
"And if I see that bandit, and I put a shaft of ash through his eye from a hundred yards away to save the woman. Is that dishonorable?"
"That's different," Kevin argued. "I mean two warriors of equal skill, betting their lives in the melee."
"If they are of equal skill, why don't they just shoot each other? That's equal too."
Kevin opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling to counter the logic.
"Enough," Aldric said. "I am practicing for my own survival. I didn't ask you to learn it. In my order, a true warrior must master many arts. Archery is one of them."
"Why didn't you learn it before?"
Aldric didn't want to explain the mechanics of a Paladin's skill tree. "I failed the test," he lied smoothly. "That is why I was exiled."
Kevin gasped softly. His imagination ran wild. If a warrior as terrifying as Ser Aldric was exiled for failing a test... what kind of monsters rule his homeland?
The seed of awe took deeper root in the boy's heart.
For the rest of the week, Aldric beat Harry and Kevin into the dirt. Harry, bruised and exhausted, often wondered why he was paying for this torture. But he couldn't deny the results. He was faster, more balanced, and his thrusts carried lethal weight.
Grateful for the genuine instruction, Harry used his own coin to buy a second-hand, canvas-covered wagon for Aldric.
Aldric was thrilled. Sitting on a wooden bench was infinitely superior to bruising his thighs in a saddle for a month.
On the tenth day of their stay in Redstone, Clegg Cobb's caravan was fully loaded.
Under the pale, grey light of the Northern dawn, the wagons rolled out.